


i was scared of pretty girls and starting conversations

by mygalfriday (BrinneyFriday)



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 23:23:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4118506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrinneyFriday/pseuds/mygalfriday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times the Doctor thinks about kissing River Song and one time he actually does something about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i was scared of pretty girls and starting conversations

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the rdficathon. Prompt: The first time the Doctor initiates a kiss with River.
> 
> Any dialogue that sounds familiar is taken directly from the show. Story title from Riptide by Vance Joy.

_i.)_

 

When he receives another message on his psychic paper signed with _x_ he knows he’s about to meet River Song again. He thinks about running for a lot of reasons – because she’s this big scary unknown who knows things no one ever should, because something about her feels fated and the Doctor hates the idea of some predestined lover, and well… she’s dead.

 

He’d watched her die. And now he’s supposed to – what? Pretend it never happened? Fall in love with someone he already knows he’ll lose? He’s experienced enough loss in his life to know walking into it willingly is just insane.

 

Frowning, the Doctor leans against the console and stares down at the psychic paper in his hand, contemplating that little _x_ at the end of her message. If he’d learned one thing about River Song from their last encounter, it was that she is never ever boring. And he’s been alone long enough that he’s begun to crave people again. Friends. A hand to hold. He promised himself after Donna that there would be no more of this. No more being selfish. No more companions he’ll only destroy. But he won’t be endangering River like he does everyone else he touches. He already knows he’s going to. Will have. It’s done.

 

With a firm nod, the Doctor tucks away the psychic paper into his pocket and whirls to face the console, already smiling a little to himself as he inputs coordinates. He could use a bit of companionable running. Besides, if they’re too busy running for their lives – and he doubts River is an afternoon stroll in the park kind of woman – he might not even have to talk to her. No unnecessary attachments.

 

It’s a win/win.

 

With lighter hearts than he’s been carrying around for a long time, the Doctor lands the TARDIS and nearly runs to the doors, throwing them open. He expects a war torn alien planet. Explosions. Screaming. At least a nice spooky house to investigate. Perhaps those Bone Meadows River had mentioned when she’d been rifling through her blue book. The absolutely last thing he expected to find was River Song in a prim little sundress, sitting on a picnic blanket with a whole spread of food laid out just so. She’s looking at him and smiling, though it dims a bit as he simply stands there and stares at her.

 

“River,” he greets warily.

 

“Sweetie,” she chirps, looking relieved as she pats the space next to her. “Come sit.”

 

He hovers just outside the TARDIS, hands in his pockets as he eyes her. “This is what you called me here for? A picnic?”

 

She tilts her head, curls brushing her shoulder – blonde now, he notices idly. “Don’t you like picnics?”

 

He blinks at her. “Well… I suppose so. Yes.”

 

“Then come sit.” She pats the blanket again and smirks. “I won’t bite.”

 

Somehow, looking at her all red-lipped and sultry, the strap of her cotton sundress slipping off one bare, tanned shoulder, the Doctor has a feeling she’s lying through her teeth. River Song is most definitely a biter. And by the smirk on her face, he probably enjoys it. It should make him bristle, all that foreknowledge lurking in her eyes. And it usually does. But for just a moment, the Doctor imagines those red lips pulled back in a wicked grin, her teeth sinking playfully into his bottom lip…

 

He shudders, blinking.

 

River still watches him with that knowing look, holding a plate of his favorite scones like some sort of temptress. A scone temptress who knows all his weak spots. He swallows. Well, he could eat.

 

He sits, spending the whole meal pointedly not looking at River Song’s mouth.

 

_ii.)_

 

“Octavian said you killed a man.”

 

He almost regrets it the moment the words are out of his mouth, watching the smile slip right off her face. “Yes, I did.”

 

“A good man.”

 

River watches him solemnly, her lips parted and her eyes sad. “A very good man,” she agrees, and he knows that whatever had happened, she regrets it. And not just because she’s in prison for it. The guilt in her eyes is enough to knock the breath from his lungs. “The best man I’ve ever known.”

 

“Who?”

 

She laughs softly, her smile wide and mischievous once again. “Sorry, Doctor. Can’t be told. Has to be lived. No sneak previews.” She hesitates, eyes gleaming. “Well, except for this one.”

 

He feels an answering smile stretch across his face and before he knows it, he’s grinning at this enticing murderess with the thrill of anticipation in his gut. It doesn’t matter that a few hours ago he wanted to leave her stranded on a beach because the thought of a future with this woman scared the life out of him. Everything feels different now and he wants to know what comes next. He wants to know when he’s going to get the chance to run with her again.

 

“You’ll see me again quite soon,” she reveals, and he rather loves how thrilled she looks when she’s imparting a secret. “When the Pandorica opens.”

 

It’s his turn to laugh now and he leans in toward her, drawn inexplicably to her now just as he has always been. Probably always will be. The moment he’s close enough to breathe her in he realizes what a terrible mistake he has just made. River smells like sea mist and sweat and ancient dust. It’s more intoxicating than any perfume and he tries not to inhale again as he whispers against her ear, “That’s a fairytale.”

 

She speaks his name through her laughter as he pulls away and blimey, if it had been difficult to look at her before it was doubly so now with the scent of her catalogued and filed away in his brain. “Aren’t we all?”

 

No witty reply comes to him for once in his life but he keeps smiling at her, keeps studying her – filing more and more tidbits into the rapidly accumulating folder in his head labeled Mysterious Space Vixen. The tiny, fuzzy flyaway curls escaping her ponytail and fluttering in the sea breeze and the fading pink lipstick that looks entirely out of place with her army fatigues. He lingers on the lipstick for a moment longer than he should, wondering briefly what it might taste like if he happened to – entirely hypothetically, of course – close the distance between them again and brush his mouth over hers.

 

He could do that. For the Space Vixen file. It could be important information.

 

“I’ll see you there.”

 

Teeth sinking into his bottom lip and pink lipstick still weighing heavily on his mind, the Doctor ducks his head and replies, “I look forward to it.”

 

As she disappears in a whirl of smoke and sand, he stares at the space where she’d been only moments ago and finds that he’d actually meant it.

 

_iii.)_

 

He can hear Amy outside the tent, flirting with Romans. He’d opted to stay with River, perched on the chair she’d been lounging in when he arrived, watching her de-Cleopatra herself. In his entirely unbiased opinion, she’s much better than the real thing. More fearsome, certainly.

 

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” River glances over her shoulder, fingers working behind her to undo her elaborate neckpiece. “And all due respect sweetie, but you are a tiny bit biased.”

 

He blinks at her, wondering if she can read minds on top of everything else she’s capable of – including impersonating an Egyptian queen. “How -”

 

“Those thoughts you want to keep private?” She raises an eyebrow. “Don’t say them out loud, my love.”

 

He flushes.

 

Chuckling to herself, River finally gets the neckpiece undone and tosses it onto the table beside her. The wig follows, revealing blonde curls pinned tightly to her scalp. To his disappointment, she leaves them in for now and he watches her pad barefoot over to her knapsack, her numerous gold anklets tinkling with every step. She rummages through her bag and he watches her forage, staring at her again.

 

The neckpiece, he realizes, had been a mercy accessory. River must have known if she didn’t wear something to cover the excessive amount of cleavage spilling out of her dress right now, he’d have never come up with a plan at all. How could anyone, when faced with – his mind flails for a moment, stuttering – _that_ possibly manage to think about anything else?

 

River makes a soft noise of triumph and pulls out a packet of wipes, dropping her knapsack once again as she moves over to a mirror and begins the work of removing the heavy makeup around her eyes. “Shouldn’t you be seeing about those horses?”

 

“Probably,” he murmurs, mesmerized as she tosses aside the wipe and starts working on the pins in her hair. Every time a curl springs free of its prison, he wants to giggle. It’s like it has a mind of its own, some sentient being who just happens to live on River’s head. “Shouldn’t you be more respectful of old things?”

 

“Oh? Have I disrespected you lately, honey?” She glances over her shoulder with a smirk, holding the last pin in her hand. Her hair is, blimey it’s utterly mad – wild and twisty and it reminds him a bit of time. River Song has time hair. It suits her much better than the wig. Her face is free of makeup now and that smirk has twisted her lips into an enticing little pout. He wants to kiss it away, he realizes, gulping. He wants to bury his hands in all that hair and kiss her until she stops laughing at him. “Come here and I’ll make it up to you.”

 

He chokes, eyes flying up to meet hers. “Sorry, what? No, I meant – the cliff because y’know, it’s old and you’re an archaeologist and they like old things, don’t they?”

 

Still eyeing him with that predatory gleam in her gaze, River murmurs, “They certainly do.”

 

The Doctor stifles a squeak, his heart in his throat and when did it get so warm in here? “Well, I’ll just let you change and I really should look into those horses -” He starts backing away, eyes still on her as he edges toward the tent flap. “So I’ll just be out here when you’re -” He trips over a Persian rug and stumbles back another step as he finishes, “Ready.”

 

Turning on his heel, he nearly runs the rest of the way out, River’s soft laughter chasing him. Face flaming, the Doctor drags in a greedy lungful of air and tries to think about something other than clingy Egyptian dresses and full, smirking lips. It’s rather difficult.

 

A little ways off, surrounded by Romans and looking very pleased, Amy takes one look at his brightly flushed cheeks and calls out, “Get an eyeful, Raggedy Man?”

 

He sputters.

 

_iv.)_

 

“Oh, and this is my friend River. Nice hair, clever, has her own gun and unlike me, she really doesn’t mind shooting people. I shouldn’t like that.” He glances at her, something warm and fond wrapping around his hearts and squeezing at the sight of River, fierce and determined, blaster held steady in her hand. “Kinda do a bit.”

 

Her eyes light up. “Thank you, sweetie.”

 

Tugging at his coat and feeling pleased with himself, the Doctor returns to the matter at hand. “I know you’re team players and everything but she’ll definitely kill the first three of you.”

 

He feels River at his back and the reassuring, warm press of her against him sends a giddy thrill down his spine. “Oh, the first seven easily.”

 

“Seven?” He asks, forgetting himself again as he turns his head and tries to look at her. He is _not_ impressed by her rather deadly prowess or the power he feels radiating even from her lithe, muscled back. Honest. “Really?”

 

“Oh,” she purrs, tipping her head back. “Eight for you, honey.”

 

He feels her soft curls tickle the back of his neck and bloody hell, what is he supposed to be doing again? He can’t think of anything but that voice, what it might sound like right against his ear in _other_ situations. More intimate. With less clothes. And then he’s thinking about River without any clothes at all and what all those sinewy muscles flexing under golden skin might look like against his bed sheets and oh blimey this is _not_ good. He wonders if anyone would notice if he just spun around and snogged her. He’d make it quick, really.

 

“Stop it,” he murmurs.

 

Curls brushing his neck again, River presses wantonly against his back and utters in a low purr, “Make me.”

 

Oh _Gallifrey_. That voice should be illegal in every galaxy in every universe.

 

He gulps. One snog. Just a quick one.

 

“Is this really important flirting?”

 

He blinks, turning to look at the source of the voice and feeling River do the same.

 

Amy glowers at him. “Because I feel like I should be higher on the list right now.”

 

Amy. Amelia Pond.

 

Right. Of course.

 

Flushing, he steps hastily away from River and the temptation of her warm back and her soft curls. Snog later, then.

 

_i.)_

 

He thought it would happen during some big, grand moment. He thought it would be memorable, like during an explosive argument or after some dangerous, death-defying adventure. Never once, in all the moments the Doctor pictured snogging River Song, did it ever occur to him that it might happen like this – a quiet evening on the TARDIS, with him in his shirtsleeves and braces, and River in leggings and fuzzy socks.

 

The Ponds had toddled off to bed hours ago and he’d meant to find something fun to do with River in their absence but then she’d wandered out of her room yawning and carrying a stack of papers in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. She didn’t look ready to go anywhere but to bed so he’d pretended to fiddle with the TARDIS instead and then he’d actually found something to repair and here they are. River curled up on the jumpseat grading university papers and the Doctor crouched under the console with his sonic in one hand, gazing at her through the lenses of his goggles and suddenly overcome with the need to just… kiss her.

 

It’s so… domestic.

 

It should bother him. It really doesn’t. As a matter of fact, he thinks he likes it much better than the spur of the moment act he always thought it would be when he finally worked up the courage. This feels more like a conscious decision. It should be. River deserves to know he means it.

 

She’d kissed him last time so by all accounts, it’s his turn now, isn’t it? He hesitates, lifting his goggles from his face and letting them dangle around his neck. He’d been a bit rubbish at it and he’d entirely forgotten he had hands at all, let alone what he should do with them. But it had been nice. He wants to do it again. The question, of course, is how. He can’t just snog her, can he? Shouldn’t he ask permission? Granted, River hadn’t asked permission from him but perhaps she already had it from future him. That counted, didn’t it? And maybe her kissing him counted as permission for him to kiss her? Was that how it worked?

 

Hovering near the console, the Doctor watches River rub one small, fuzzy socked foot against her ankle and bite her lip, her gaze focused on the page in front of her. Yes, he decides, moving forward. That’s how it works.

 

“River.”

 

“Hmm?” She glances up but he doesn’t give her a chance to say anything else, leaning in to kiss her. Except his aim is a bit off and he ends up bumping his nose against hers and pressing his mouth to her upper lip instead.

 

He retreats quickly, already blushing as he jumps back. “Sorry, sorry. I was just trying to – and you made it look so easy last time and -”

 

River laughs softly but she isn’t laughing at him. Her eyes are warm and amused but it isn’t at his expense so he relaxes and lets her take his hand. She stands up, pushing him gently onto the jumpseat and before he can question her, she settles herself right on his lap. He promptly forgets what to do with his hands again. River watches him patiently, still looking rather entertained.

 

“Want to try that again, sweetie?”

 

He swallows, looking into twinkling green eyes for a moment before letting his gaze drop to her mouth, studying soft pink lips. Despite the likelihood of embarrassing himself again, the answer is still yes. He rather would.

 

His palms have gone all sweaty but he settles them on her hips anyway, hoping she doesn’t notice the way his hands tremble just a little as he touches her. He licks his lips, concentrating. He wants to kiss how River does. He wants her to feel the way he had – all nervous and thrilled and with a tummy full of butterflies. How had she done that? She’d just leaned in, all smiling and lovely and he’d utterly lost his senses.

 

River strokes her fingers over his cheek, looking down at him fondly. “Stop thinking about it,” she says quietly. “That’s the secret.”

 

“I’m always thinking about it,” he mutters, petulant.

 

Looking pleased, River smiles at him and those soft pink lips part and curl up, revealing perfect white teeth. He wants to kiss her. So he does. He just leans in and focuses on his aim until his lips are pressed right against her smiling ones. His hands are still shaking but River curls her fingers around the back of his neck and nudges against him encouragingly, telling him without words that he’s off to a rather good start.

 

He relaxes, lips parting to draw hers into his mouth. River lets him with a little sigh, manicured nails scratching through the hair at the back of his head. The small, satisfied noise imbues the Doctor with the confidence he needs to reach out a hand and thread his fingers through her curls like he thought of doing all that time ago, the first time he saw it down. His mouth moves with more certainty against hers but River still doesn’t try to take over. She lets him lead, raking her fingers through his hair, her smiling mouth against his.

 

It’s chaste and sweet and when he finally gathers the courage to press his tongue into her mouth, River releases a faint purring noise that nearly makes him forget his hands again. He tightens them on her hips, keeping her close. He isn’t panicking this time and there’s no rush, no Ponds or prison bars waiting to separate them. He takes his time, cataloguing all the things he missed before.

 

River smells like honey blossoms and she tastes like tea and rain. When he kisses her, he can see the trees of Gallifrey, golden orange in the twilight. She returns his kisses with a confidence that speaks of familiarity, like she does it all the time. The thought of kissing River Song all the time is enough to make the butterflies reappear in his stomach again.

 

When he finally breaks away, he doesn’t go far, pressing his forehead against hers and wondering why he’s panting when he doesn’t even need to breathe. “River?”

 

Eyes shut and a relaxed smile on her face, River hums. “Hmm?”

 

He swallows. “Do you have butterflies in your tummy too?”

 

Her languid smile grows, curling her mouth into a wide grin as she opens her eyes. Nuzzling her nose against his, she confides in a whisper, “Always.”


End file.
